A Girl Named Valentine
by Nowordwriter
Summary: Valentine Cicely Fisher. The name she hates. She is not a fisher. In fact, she hates fishing. Val's aunt grows mushrooms in their backyard and her half-brothers try to run her over with their beautiful car. How can life get anymore interesting?
1. My name is Valentine

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well hi there! This is my first Supernatural fiction so I hope I can portray the characters decently at least.  
Reviews are very welcome! **

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Saturdays were the best. School was over for the week end, homework could be done later, and I was ready to rock and roll.

"Valentine!" My aunt bellowed piercingly. I froze and cringed at the use of my full name. I prefer 'Val', but Aunt Lynn never really processed that despite the fact that I have told her many, many times. I gave up trying to get her on the right page last year. See, my aunt is just a bit nutty; she has an irritating hobby to hold séances with her other elderly friends. My aunt is in her sixties. 'Why the heck is your aunt so old?' You might ask, well because she is 15 years older than my dearly departed mother. Yep, my mother died when I was 5. It was a sad day indeed….The point I'm trying to make is that I live my batty old aunt who holds séances every Friday night.

The reason my aunt yelled my name is because I was trying to sneak past her while she was watching TV.

_Mental Note to Self: Never try to sneak past elderly aunt while she watches TV; she's got eyes on the back of her head. _

I wanted to exit the house without her noticing because when she does see me leaving, it's all "When are going to be home? What time exactly? Where are you going? Who are you going to be with? What are their parent's names and numbers? What do you mean 'They don't want to talk with you'?"

It's true. My friend's parents didn't want to talk with an old lady who was off her rocker. Anyway, I'm pretty sure the reason my aunt wanted to know every single detail of my weekend was because she didn't want me running into my two half-brothers or father accidently. Yes, she is a crazy, but she sure knows how to hate. But really, the chance of me running into Sam, Dean or dad is so miniscule it hardly exists. I adored my brothers. I hardly knew them, but they were still fresh in my mind from the one time I had met them when I was 8 years old. Sam would have been 15 and Dean 19. They were older now, and probably much different. But even now, 8 years later, I still idolized them.

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"Valentine Cicely Fisher!" My aunt bellowed again even though she knew I was right behind her. Ouch. I hated it when she used my technically not true full name. I believe legally I am a Winchester, which I prefer, but my aunt insists on using my mother's last name: Fisher. I'm not a fisher. I don't fish. In fact, I hate fishing. It's mind-numbing and tedious.

I trudged to the front of the couch where she could see me and prepared myself for the oncoming barrage of questions.

"Where are you going? What time…" Etc…. She popped all of the questions in less than two breaths. If I hadn't been impatient, I might have been quite impressed. I sighed and answered all of them as best I could.

I was going downtown to chill with my besties, Emily Baker and Cass Peterson. I would be back by 5 o'clock unless I called and said otherwise. I didn't know their parents or their numbers.

"Valentineley, make sure you call at lunchtime so I know you're all right. Okay?"

I agreed as whole-heartedly as I could, then she tried to whack me with her magazine fly swatter. "Shoo! Let me finish my show!" Aunt Lynn was in the middle of a show for nutters on how to grow Shiitake mushrooms in your back yard. Don't get me wrong, I love my aunt. But she can be…interesting to deal with sometimes.

With a final goodbye, I hurried out the front door, hopped on my _amazing_ bike and tore down the street. Letting go of the handlebars and steering with my knees, I searched the side pocket of my backpack for my earphones. Grasping the red plastic with my hands I pulled them out and placed one in my ear. I didn't like to have both earphones in at the same time; I'd rather be aware of my surroundings at all times. After about ten minutes of suburbs, I turned off and pedaled down a small highway that served as a short cut to get to my friend's house. It was a good thing I left one ear bud out so I could hear, or I would have been human pancake on the road. I heard the screeching tires of a car behind me and swerved off to the side of the road. It would have been a perfect evasion if I hadn't, with unfortunate accuracy, hit a large rock. I flipped over the handlebars, and landed with thump on my back. Actually, I landed on the backpack that was on my back. I squeezed my eyes shut with discomfort and only opened them when I heard a voice say, "Oh my god, are you alright? We're so sorry."

When I opened my eyes I seriously think I almost had a heart attack. Kneeling over me was none other then Sam Winchester.

**Alright, now tell me how I did! Should I continue?**


	2. Their career is a secret

**Hey here's chapter 2! please Review? **

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I bolted to my feet, ignoring the pain.

"Sam!?" I choked. He looked so much older. And holy crap, taller. I would never forget that face though. A confused look slid onto his face.

"Sorry…do I know you?"

I laughed incredulously. There, leaning against the car like he didn't care that he almost squished me with it, was none other than Dean.

"Dean?! Crap, you look smaller. That's probably because Sam is so tall, though," I spluttered out as best I could.

He raised his eyebrows, "Who are you, again?"

My face fell at this. They didn't recognize me, "Oh, we're related, you know," I shrugged casually.

Sam and Dean's eyes widened simultaneously. "Valentine?!"

I cringed. "Just Val, please"

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean demanded.

"I live fifteen minutes that way." I jerked my thumb in the direction I came from. Aunt Lynn would kill me for telling them that. "And you almost squished me with…that…that beautiful car." I looked over to it, just now appreciating its splendor. I could literally see Dean's chest puff out at my comment.

"Isn't she?" He ran his hand over the roof with tenderness. I limped over and peered inside, "Chevy Impala, nice. What year?" Dean glanced at Sam, whose eyebrows hadn't left his hairline, with a delighted smile on his face and announced, "'67."

I'm something of a car person. Though, going from Dean's body language toward the car, I don't think I loved them nearly as much as he.

"So, what've you guys been doing for the past eight years?"

Dean shrugged, "This and that. Nothing you'd find interesting, I'm sure."

There was something about the way he said 'this and that' and the look he gave Sam as he said it that piqued my curiosity. My darn curiosity always got me into trouble.

"Is that so?" I asked them. "Care to be a bit more specific?"

My brothers shared a glance. "No, not really." Said Sam. Well, alrighty, then. A bit secretive are we? Maybe they were wanted criminals. How thrilling!

I tried to hide my excitement and picked up my bike, checking for damage. Yep, the front tire was flat. I must admit I was almost happy to have a flat tire; it means Sam and Dean would have to give me a ride.

"Hmm, well, it looks like my bike is in a small state of disrepair…." I let a slightly put out expression come over my face and gestured at the front tire.

"Do you mind…giving me a ride?"

They shared another look. Curse those looks they share.

"Actually, Valentine -" Sam started to say but I cut him off. Curse _Valentine._

"-Just Val, please." I almost pleaded.

"Valentine," he corrected himself, "We're kinda on a tight schedule…."

They were going to leave me here.

"So you're just going to leave me here to catch a ride with a stranger?" I asked with astonishment.

My brothers looked at each other again. It seemed as though they had whole conversations just by looking at each other. Conversations I wasn't included in.

"Fine," Dean agreed suddenly. Sweet.

"I'll just strap my bike on the back of your car, then."

Dean made a face, "No scratches. If there are scratches, you die."

Hmm brotherly love.

"Dean!" Sam called from the front end of the car, "Come look at this!" Dean trotted over to where Sam was squatting and peered at whatever it was Sam had found. I shrugged and dragged my bike to the back of the car. Hmmm, there was nothing to tie it on with. Maybe in the trunk. I pulled the handle and the trunk lid popped open. I gasped when I saw the contents. Guns of varying sizes, knives, bags of salt, and many other weapons were scattered carelessly on the bottom of the trunk. There was even an axe.

What had my brothers become? I suddenly got very scared and quickly grasped the handle of a gun. I had never shot anyone and really didn't want to. But if worst came to worst, I was prepared to do anything. I checked to make sure it was loaded (long story on how I know how to do that) and got it ready to fire. I sucked in a deep breath to ready myself and stepped out from behind the car, while hiding the gun behind my back.

"So what do you guys do for a living?" I asked casually. They glanced up simultaneously and both stuttered, "Well, we…just do…stuff."

"What kind of…stuff?"

"You know, stuff stuff," said Dean.

"Stuff stuff?"

"Yeah, stuff stuff."

"If one more person says 'stuff' again, I'm going to drive away and leave you two here!" Sam cried with exasperation. We fell silent. Dean got up and started walking towards me. I quickly whipped the gun from my back and pointed it at him.

"Stay right there. Don't take another step."

His hands were in the air so fast, I barely saw them move. "Whoa, hold on there, little girl. Think that might be a bit of overkill?" Dean pointed out slowly.

"This is not overkill! All the weapons in the trunk of your car are 'overkill'! Not this!"

"You let her look in the trunk?" Sam whispered with annoyance to Dean.

"Well if you hadn't called me away to look at some 'cool bug' you found squished in the front!"

"It was neat!"

"It's a bug, Sam."

"Scared?"

Dean began to reply but I interrupted their petty argument, "Stop! Just stop!" I regret to say that my hand with the gun trembled a little. "Why do you have all those weapons?"

Dean sighed. "It's hard to explain. But if you put down the gun, we'll try."

Sam glanced at him, "You think that's a good idea? She's just a kid."

"Yeah, a kid with a gun. Pointed at us," Dean added as if Sam didn't get the whole picture.

"Fine, we're supernatural hunters," Sam said matter-of-fact.

Okay, let's pause here for a bit of an explanation. Perhaps my reaction to his statement wasn't quite dignity ridden, but just because I laughed until I cried doesn't mean it's my fault the gun went off.

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**SO THE GUN WENT OFF? DID ANYONE GET SHOT? REVIEW**


	3. And BAM the gun went off!

**Well, sorry for not updating in a while...busy life..stressful life...anyway here is the 3rd chapter! I hope you enjoy and please please please leave a review! Cheers!**

BAM!

Amidst my mirth I had accidently squeezed the trigger and the gun went off. My laugh turned into a scream. Sam and Dean both jumped and quickly checked themselves for bullet holes. I dropped the gun and did the same. Upon coming to the conclusion that we were all intact, Dean snatched the gun from the ground.

"You could've killed someone! Or yourself!" he said angrily.

"So? I would've just come back as a ghost," I replied sarcastically while rubbing my ears.

"We're serious," said Sam earnestly.

"Uh-huh. My aunt says she can communicate with the dead which means I have to put up with séances every Friday night. So far there have been no ghosties popping up. Do you know how hard it is to sit with a group of women all over the age of sixty for an hour? Holding their _hands,_ no less?"

"Oh I'm sorry," replied Dean just as sarcastically. "We risk our lives every day, and you have to hold hands with elderly women once a week. I'm sorry if you don't receive much sympathy."

"Can you prove it?" I asked with my hands on my hips. "Prove that ghosts are real?"

"Yes," said Dean.

"No," said Sam. They glared at each other.

"No, Dean, we're not dragging her into this. I'm putting my foot down on this one."

"Well I'm putting my foot down…on the gas pedal. Hop in "Val", we're going to hunt some ghosties!"

**Yeah...sorry it's short.**


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